The End
by Dark-Phantasmagoria
Summary: Final Battle Scene; major character deaths. Mostly stems from my pain of reading Twist and Shout, so be prepared to cry.


The End

"It'll be okay," Dean whispered, gripping Cass' trench coat. The angel sputtered, reaching up to touch Dean's face and hold it there. Dean didn't care at this point, after all that had happened.

"It'll be okay Cass," he cooed softly.

"Dean, De-Dean," Cass coughed, trying to get a sentence out.

"Yeah? Yeah baby?" Dean mumbled, carding his hands through Cass' hair. Those astral blue eyes searched through him.

"Always?" Cass asked, still able to cock his head to the side in that adorable way. Dean nodded, feeling the tears pour down his cheeks.

"God yes," he muttered, feeling his eyes growing redder, his nose pouring like a child. He reached down to kiss Cass, for the first time, and it felt like an entirely different universe. He grasped Cass' hair, pulling him up closer, gripping him tighter and tighter, breathing in the angel. Castiel sighed into Dean, pulling him down until their blood-spattered bodies were flush. Dean pushed harder against the shirt, which was pressed, to Cass' chest, clotting the wound.

"It's not that bad, see?" he muttered to himself, looking into Cass' eyes.

"Dean, I'm dying," he mumbled softly, looking into the hunter's seas of green eyes, searching for a glimmer of hope.

"No, no Cass, you're an angel, stupid, you can't die," Dean whispered madly, holding Cass' hand tightly.

"Dean, you have to let me go," Cass whispered, reaching up again to bury his head in Dean's neck. Dean lied down next to him and intertwined their fingers. He didn't care that the battle was still raging on all around them. This was what mattered.

"I'm one stupid son of a bitch, Cass. I couldn't tell you how much—that I love you," he whispered, looking at the angel deeply.

"I–I love–love you too Dean Winc-Winchester," Cass mumbled incoherently.

"More than anyone in the world Cass," Dean continued, his eyes red and face pale. He could here the yelling of demons and hunters, angels and monsters... But nothing mattered, not anymore…

"Don't let go Cass, you can hold on," Dean whispered, but he knew that Cass was going. He had been wounded with an angel blade, several times, as well as incurring injuries from poison and all sorts of evil.

"I'm trying," Cass said, feeling afraid for once in his eternity of life. He prayed to God, begged that Dean would be all right, that he would live long and go to heaven.

"I'll see you again Cass," Dean smiled. "In Heaven…" But Cass just shook his head.

"I don't think I'm going back to Heaven Dean," he said softly.

"Don't talk like that! You stupid bastard, I'm going to find you again!" Dean growled. Cass looked scared, seeing Dean like that. He hadn't even known that the hunter had loved him until today.

"I wish you had told me Dean," he mumbled, feeling himself fading.

"I wanted to, so badly Cass," Dean whispered, still stroking his angel's hair. "But I'm telling you now, Castiel—I love you more than I've loved anyone else in my whole damn life, you hear me? I'm going to get you back somehow, I don't care what I have to do!" Dean could see Castiel fading, growing darker, paler with every breath.

"Okay, okay Dean. Just, just don't give up—live for me, okay? You can never stop living Dean. Promise you won't give up because I'm gone?" Dean nodded, knowing it was probably a lie.

"Okay Cass," he said, kissing the angel again, and it tasted so sweet, so pure, that he felt himself sobbing into Cass' mouth because he had never known this before. He carded his fingers through Cass' hair more violently now, clutching him as a child clutches their teddy bear. He was nearly on top of Castiel, but he didn't give a damn.

"Cass, it's okay baby," he muttered into Cass' neck, and he didn't realize until he looked up into Cass' eyes that he was gone. His astral eyes of blue didn't look glassy though like humans… They were still bright, forever living. Dean shakily raised a hand to slid Cass' eyes shut, and collapsed on his dead form. At some point, he heard the noises of battle cease and felt himself being pulled away by Sam's strong arms into an embrace.

"I'm so sorry Dean—so sorry," Sam said, holding his older brother tightly. Dean shuddered and convulsed into Sam's chest, heaving great sobs. He finally let everything collapse in on him, after so many years of pain, finally let it overtake him, making him limp and incapacitated. Sam felt a great sadness in his heart for Dean, but also for Cass. He had loved him so much, like family.

"Its all over Dean, its over—we won," Sam muttered, hushing his brother.

"I—I don't care about winning Sammy," Dean mumbled. "I just—he's gone," he said shakily. He was admitting everything to Sam in that one sentence, but he didn't give a shit. Sam had a right to know how he felt, what he had kept hidden all of these years.

"I knew Dean, I always knew," Sam whispered. Dean nodded.

"I know… We need to, give him something—a hunter's funeral," he whispered. Sam nodded.

"We will… we will… Just be still Dean, you don't have to do anything else… You don't' have to save anyone else man," Sam said quietly. And he wouldn't… Dean Winchester was through saving, through helping, through living. The ceremony for Castiel was a day long, and they sadly watched the flames in an old field as his body drifted away, into the earth.

After Cass' funeral, Dean felt a sudden emptiness. _Cass is gone… _The words played through his mind a million times, each becoming more and more agonizing. He drowned himself in liquor, hoping it would ebb the pain, but by now, after so many years, he was nearly immune to its effects. Dean sat on the motel bed one night, crying and shaking like he never had before. Castiel, his baby Castiel, whom he had never truly touched, never embraced, never really kissed, was gone… Dean wished he had acted, wished he had done more than fantasize and stare… But that was impossible now, for Castiel was truly, deeply, gone… And with Cass went Dean's soul, and with Dean went Sam, slowly fading away as the year went on. The angels and demons were mostly dead, the monsters nearly extinguished. But, they would all reproduce and come back like the maggots they were, they always did… The hunters dragged forward, carrying on as they always had, but both were truly broken. They were worse off than when they were in Hell, worse off than when the other had been dead. After everything, their many deaths, resurrections, trips to Hell and Purgatory, this was their reward. But they had already known. The heroes are never recognized, only left to fade away into their minds like mist into the mountains, left to pick up the pieces of their broken hearts as soldiers and heartbroken slaves. A hunter's life is never easy, in fact, it's a living Hell…


End file.
